


Fish or Cut Bait

by imachar



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-21
Updated: 2011-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imachar/pseuds/imachar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Yorktown’s Captain finally decides what he wants, with a little help from an engineering <i>malfunction</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fish or Cut Bait

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a part of the Weight of a Man series - it's an alternate origin story.
> 
> Beta: Zauzat

“It’s just as well we’re not in the middle of something _critical_.” Chris Pike raises his voice just a fraction on the last word and hits the comm switch a little harder than is strictly necessary. He gets static in response, provoking him to hit it again just out of frustration.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, just relax.” Phil Boyce has made himself comfortable on the floor of the stalled turbolift and is reading something on his PADD, making the occasional note with his stylus and he rolls his eyes as Pike leaves the comm and commences pacing the floor, three long strides in each direction.

“Relax? We’re stuck in a fucking turbolift and my Chief Engineer informs me that it could be an hour or more before she can get us out of here and then, _then_ the comm goes out.” Pike stops pacing, turning to lean his broad frame against the bulkhead, fingers of both hands tapping an irritating tattoo on the wall behind him.

“Not that I’d ever consider giving the Captain an order – but will you just _quit_ that. It’s no big deal, just trust Cait, she knows what she’s doing.” Boyce puts down the PADD, shifting to rest his head against the bulkhead, the overhead illumination striking highlights in the silver that’s liberally sprinkled through his hair, just the slightest smile lifting the corner of his mouth and he’s looking suspiciously relaxed.

“What are you not telling me?” Pike frowns at his CMO, trying to ignore the little jump in his heart rate as Boyce’s smile widens and he’s fixed with that clear, vivid blue gaze.

“Well, I might have been sitting close enough to Cait and One in the mess the other night to overhear the tail end of a conversation they maybe shouldn’t have been having.”

“A conversation about what?”

“I didn’t catch all of it, but it sounded very much like ‘If they don’t get their shit together in the next month and just fuck each other I’m going engineer a turbolift malfunction that traps them until they figure it out.’”

There’s a long pause as Pike considers the implications of having his command crew taking this active an interest in his sex life. They are six months into a five-year deep space exploration mission and he had thought he’d been doing a pretty good job of controlling his ever-growing attraction to his CMO. He’s not going to kid himself; he’s an inveterate flirt and while he’s been pretty equal-opportunity about who gets the benefit of his charm - well, except One, notwithstanding how gorgeous she is, she scares the crap out of him and anyway, he’s pretty sure men aren’t on her radar – his focus has increasingly been on Boyce over the last few months. Proximity and affinity have combined to bond them as friends and as hard as he’s tried to prevent it; the obvious and totally unambiguous sexual tension is starting to become a little distracting. But he’s not ready to give up all his noble intentions of not having sex with anyone on his command crew just yet and he stalls, sliding down the wall until he’s sitting opposite Boyce.

“And you think she was talking about us?”

Boyce rolls his eyes and quirks his narrow, mobile mouth into a long-suffering smile that makes Pike feel like his IQ just dropped 50 points. “Chris, we’re trapped in a fucking turbolift, I’d take that as pretty definitive proof that she was talking about us.” He makes himself a little more comfortable, stretching out long legs until he can nudge Pike’s calf with one foot, dragging the toe of his boot up and down the flexed muscle, teasing gently.

“We’ve been that obvious?” Pike knows he should pull his leg away, but the tease feels so good, the promise embodied in that light touch sending little sparks of sensation up his spine.

Boyce just laughs again and links his hands behind his head. “You think? I’m running out of ways to disguise my reaction when you do that command-voice thing of yours. You didn’t notice my rapid departure from the bridge yesterday?” A slight shift of his hips indicates that Boyce might be having the same reaction right now. It makes Pike laugh, and he thinks the sound of it is resigned with just a touch of hysteria.

“Yeah, I kinda wondered about that, but we talked about this Phil. We’re not doing this right?” Pike slumps a little, rakes long fingers through his hair and gives Boyce his best beseeching look.

“Hate to argue with the captain.” There’s absolutely no indication in Boyce’s tone that he hates any such thing, and he’s grinning as he goes on. “ But I think _this_ is bigger than whatever good intentions we had about not fucking around in the middle of a deep space mission. It’s out there Chris, and not doing anything about it is starting to get disruptive.”

“You think we’re distracting the crew?”

“Self absorbed much? _No_ , I think it’s starting to distract _us_. We’re not distracting the crew, we’re just entertaining the hell out of them – we do this now and I think Hadder wins the pool.”

It takes Pike a moment to process the thought that his crew is running a book on when he gets laid, and with whom, and then the injustice of the insider information inherent in having someone from engineering win a bet decided by an engineering _malfunction_ asserts itself and he shakes his head.

“I don’t think so - if there’s a pool, no one from engineering gets to win it – bastards rigged this – they’re not gonna profit from it.”

“So _this_ is happening?”

“Yeah, I guess it is…I just…I’m not sure.” Pike drops his head into his hands, unwilling to look Boyce in the eye while he thinks this through. He’s spent his entire adult life being decisive, knowing exactly what he wants and going after it and he hates the sense that any aspect of his life is beyond his control – that perhaps he’s suspended on the edge of a precipice, about to fall with no clear idea of where he’s going to land. It’s not that he doesn’t want Boyce, he has probably since the first time they met at a Federation Day party six months before the launch of the _Yorktown_. The attraction had been immediate and mutual, but he’d done a masterful job at convincing himself that he wanted the sarcastic, smart-assed doctor as his CMO for his outstanding reputation as a physician and not because he’d been totally captivated by the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Now it appears that self-delusion is about to bite him in the ass.

He scrubs his hands briskly through his hair, wavering on what could be the most important personal decision he’s ever made, and looks across the meter and a half to where Boyce is still watching him, head tilted to one side, those clear, sharp blue eyes fond and inquisitive.

“You know Chrissie, considering what an adrenaline junkie you are on away missions, you are such a chicken-shit about this.” Boyce rubs his fingers through his hair, just a hint of frustration in the gesture and while Pike winces at the use of the detested nickname he tolerates it in acknowledgement that Boyce might just be right about this.

He _is_ playing it safe, comfortable in the easy, trusting rapport they’ve developed – adding sex to the mix will make it far more volatile. Not to mention he’s hard on relationships - driven and possessive and territorial - and he’s under no illusions, this _will_ be a relationship. There is no way either of them would be content with some kind of friends-with-benefits arrangement.

He shrugs, leans forward on his knees and admits, “You’re right, total chicken-shit. Telling me that doesn’t make it any easier to say yes to something that could go so fucking wrong on so many levels.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” From the tone of his voice it appears that Boyce’s famously short fuse has just about run out. “You think I’ll fuck around on you? Get tired of you? I don’t play those kinds of games. We’re adults Chris, time to fish or cut bait – I want you, and it sure as hell looks like you want me.” Boyce casts a meaningful glance at Pike’s groin, the heavy black fabric of his uniform pants disguising the growing bulge, but not the uncomfortable shift of his hips as the fabric tightens.

“Yeah well, there’s never been any mystery about what my dick wants.” Since it’s obvious that Boyce knows what’s going on, Pike takes the opportunity to work himself into more comfortable position, stretching one leg across the floor of the turbolift and easing his length from where it’s become trapped along his inseam.

“But the rest of you?” That booted foot finds its way to up to Pike’s lap, the tease now much more blatant and Boyce grins evilly at the way Pike squirms under his touch and at the slight hitch in his voice as he finally admits.

“I guess the rest of me’s right there along with it.”

“Well get your ass the fuck over here and make me believe it.”

Boyce has always been assertive, and not particularly respectful of rank, but his clear authority in this situation is both a surprise and, to Pike’s slight chagrin, a hell of a turn on. At some level he should have expected that he’d react well to someone else taking control. Deep space missions with limited opportunities for shore-leave and non-existent furloughs leave very little down time for a captain’s constant weight of responsibility and he knows that sex is the one place in his life where he is potentially free to not be in charge. But Pike’s enough of an alpha-male himself that until now he’s never been able to find anyone capable of making that happen for him. He pauses for one long, last breath, body relaxing as the tension drains away and realizes that now he’s made his decision it’s surprisingly easy to crawl across the floor of the turbolift and plaster his 93 kilos across Boyce’s semi-recumbent form. He groans as he soaks up the heat of the powerful body beneath him, breathes in sandalwood and coffee and musk and leans in close to ask, “So, you’re in charge then?”

“Oh, you have no fuckin’ idea.” Boyce’s answering grin is wide and feral and sends a shock of raw want flashing through Pike’s body and he grips the blue science overshirt tightly as his head is pulled down, strong fingers twined tightly in his hair as they finally, _finally_ indulge in the kiss that’s been pending for far too long. It’s hot and sweet and breath-stealingly skilled. For a brief moment they battle for control until Boyce tightens his fingers on the back of Pike’s neck in an unmistakable bid for dominance. He slides his tongue deep in a hot, slick, exquisite exploration and Pike shivers and presses back eagerly.

For five or ten minutes there’s no sound in the turbolift other than the quickened breaths and quiet moans of two men who’ve been denying their mutual attraction for far too damn long. Then ever so slowly, Boyce pulls back and curves his hand gently around Pike’s jaw. “Good to know,” is his cryptic statement as his thumb brushes lightly across the soft burn of evening stubble.

“To know what?”

“That you’re as good at that as I’d thought you’d be.”

“You’ve been thinking about this?” Pike has managed to work Boyce’s black undershirt free of his waistband and has wormed one hand up under the fabric, tracing over the flexed abdomen before wandering higher in search of the generous spread of soft, graying fur that covers Boyce’s chest.

“Oh hell yeah – don’t tell me you haven’t?” There’s just the slightest hitch in Boyce’s voice and Pike takes note of the brief shiver as his fingernail scrapes lightly across a furled nipple.

“Been thinking about a hell of a lot more than kissing you.” Pike’s still a little breathless himself and he pauses for a moment before frowning and going on, “They’re not actually expecting us to have sex in here are they.”

“Nah, no lube.” Boyce laughs, “But I think we could get away with making out for a little longer.” And he tugs Pike’s hand out from under his shirt before he pulls the other man a little more firmly onto his lap, both of them shifting against each other until their erections are lined up perfectly and they can move in a slow tease that makes Pike feel like he’s fifteen again. It doesn’t help that he’s had no comfort but his left hand since the mission began and Boyce knows it, wrapping strong fingers in to the fabric of Pike’s gold command shirt and holding him in place as he works his hips in an irresistible roll until Pike can’t stand it anymore.

“Enough, I don’t want to come in my pants when there’s the real possibility of actually getting naked and fucked in the immediate future.”

“See, it’s that kind of strategic thinking that made you the youngest captain in the fleet.” Boyce lets up and turns his attention to suckling on the soft skin under Pike’s left ear, apparently intent on making sure that there’s going to be nothing discreet about their eventual exit from the turbolift.

They come up for air minutes later to the sound of the comm chiming and Chief Engineer Barry’s voice asking. “You okay Captain? Just a couple more minutes and we’ll have you out – sorry you guys got caught in there.” There’s absolutely nothing in her tone to indicate that she is in any way responsible for their current situation and Pike rolls his eyes as Boyce calls back. “Yeah, sure y’are, Cait. You and I are gonna have a little chat when we get out of here.”

“Not scared of you, Phil – anyway, I think you’re gonna be busy when you get out of there – yeah?” Now the innocence has evaporated and Barry’s voice is laced with knowing humor. She pauses for just a second and then goes on. “Oh, now that the comm is back up so is the surveillance monitor, just thought you should know.”

They peel themselves apart with a modicum of dignity, conspicuously managing _not_ to look at the upper corner of the turbolift where a blinking red light indicates the now active status of the surveillance recorder and end up sitting side by side, shoulders just touching, fingers twined together where they’re hidden from the camera. After a moment, Pike tips his head back against the bulkhead and muses. “I guess we should be grateful they did this when we’re off shift.”

Boyce just grins and leans in so he can whisper low enough to evade the microphones. “No shit, because right now all I can think about is what you’re gonna look like naked and fucked out on your bunk when I’m done with you.”

“My bunk?”

“Closer.”

****

It occurs to Pike hours later that it’s been a decade or more since he’s allowed anyone to top him, and it’s likely he’s going to be feeling the vigorous fucking-through-the-mattress that he’s just received for days. But, naked and sweat-soaked and crushed into his own wet spot by the weight of the solid, muscled body that is sprawled across his back he really can’t bring himself to think about anything beyond when they’re going do it again. He turns his head to one side as Boyce twines strong fingers into his hair and leans in, still panting slightly to whisper, “So, Captain, you want to court-martial Cait, or should we just take her out to dinner?”

“Dinner I think – but it’ll have to wait until we’re a little closer to home - I don’t think there’s a restaurant expensive enough in this whole ass-end-of-nowhere sector to adequately compensate her for this.” Pike wriggles a little and Boyce takes the hint, rolling to the side so that they can lie facing each other in the half-dark – both grinning like idiots.

“So no regrets?”

Pike drapes one leg over Boyce’s hip, and runs an exploring hand across the softly furred chest. “What d’you think?” and Boyce just grins and tugs him into a long, sweet, lazy kiss.


End file.
